Venus' Nipples
by Heather68
Summary: When Private Investigator Harry Potter is hired to investigate the strange behaviour of his client's wife, he stumbles into the last person he expected to find.


**Venus' Nipples**

Wind stirred the dead leaves strewn along the broken pavement and tossed them into Harry's face. His hair blew across his face, getting stuck on the inside of his glasses and his eyes watered. He thought fondly on his cat and his bed and his cupboard packed with sweets and how none of those things could reasonably fit in a small, magically enhanced travel bag he was taking with him. He hunched further into his jacket as he headed toward the inn at the centre of the village. Things could be better. They could also be worse.

The inn appeared careworn but inviting compared to the pavement and frigid air blistering his skin. He rubbed his hands together, wishing he'd remembered a warming charm before Apparating and heaved his bag in front of him as he headed up the sturdy steps to the door. He pushed open the door, banging his bag into the wooden frame as he entered.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry lowered his bag and swept his hair off his face, taking a moment to breathe through the pain of his nose thawing. Decorations in the room were sporadic and unimaginative: old wooden chairs with frilly pillows lined the edge of the room, a picture of a hen and her chicks nesting in tall grass, an old grandfather clock that Harry thought could use a good winding and a coat rack that seemed ready to topple over should someone even leave their hat on it.

"Er, yes?"

A tall, young woman popped up from behind the desk with a pen and a pleasant smile. "Your room isn't quite ready yet, I'm afraid." She leaned forward and Harry had to resist the urge to step backward. "Between you and me, yeah? The blokes cleaning up are a little ... too wrinkly for the job, you get my meaning? They're nice enough, but slow. That room could've been stripped bare and remade in fifteen minutes. How long are you here for again?"

"The week, maybe less, it depends on –"

"Family troubles?"

Harry sighed inaudibly and worked up a strained smile.

"Not my place to pry, I get it." She held up her hands and laughed. "We get enough of that. Everyone seems to be acting weird out here."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, suddenly listening very closely.

"Oh, don't worry too much about it. Just nothing to do, people go mental this time of year. I can't wait to get out of here, but my mum'll have a fit if I ever sugg–" Her smile went stony and for a second Harry swore she stopped breathing. "Mum, I thought you were out!"

Harry started and turned. "Ma'am."

"You must be Mr. Potter." She wiped her hand on her trousers before reaching for his to shake. "Your room is ready. Lydia, you will show Mr. Potter upstairs."

Lydia reached behind her for a pair of keys residing on a hook and dangled them in front of Harry to grab. She grinned at him as they dropped with a jangle onto his outstretched palm, and she hopped out from behind the counter. "Right, this way then."

Harry trailed his hand along the floral wallpaper that lined the staircase as they climbed to the second floor. "There's only one other coming in this week, but they won't be here until Tuesday so it looks like it's just you and the rest of us. Hope you don't mind."

"No, it's fine, really."

"I thought you'd say that." She stopped at the end of the hall and gestured toward the door. "This one'll be yours. Try not to make a mess of it. We don't have a domestic anymore so we only get around to doing up people's rooms about once while they're staying."

Harry nodded and bid her goodnight, entering the door with every intention of taking off his shoes and going to sleep.

* * *

The sun peeked through the tiny part in the heavy curtains, falling across the floorboards and parts of the empty bed. Harry adjusted his belt and then raked a hand through his tangled hair with a tired grunt. Morning always came too soon. A knock on the door had woken him an hour earlier than he had intended, but the inviting scent of bacon drifting up the stairs from the kitchens below kept him from crawling back under the cover and hiding until his watch alarm went off.

He didn't have the time, but did he ever?

Harry shouldered his bag and headed downstairs where he was greeted by Lydia and a plate of food, which he took with a grateful smile.

"Do you need a map?"

"I thought I'd just take in the sights, if that's all right." Harry bent forward with a conspiratorial smile. "There are some people I'm hoping to avoid."

Lydia giggled and tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear. "No, I understand that." She gestured toward the plate in Harry's hands. "I hope you like bacon; it's all Mum's been making in the morning. Beginning to feel a bit like a pig myself."

Laughing, Harry reassured her that bacon was fine, and he ate a piece to prove it. And then another. He balanced the half-empty plate on end of the banister, embarrassed. Before she could protest that he stay to finish, he ducked around her and headed out the door, shooting a fast 'thanks for that' over his shoulder as he left.

It turned out that exploring the town meant walking five minutes in one direction then ten minutes in the other. Harry stood in the centre of the brick square, turning slowly in place, to read the shop signs. A barber, a grocery store, a deli, the post office, a police station/fire house and a few chintzy looking second-hand clothing stores, and at the far end of the road, nestled between two abandoned store fronts, with a sign done in fresh gold paint, was the chocolaterie. Harry wet his lower lip, sucking it between his bottom teeth as he debated his next move. An elderly couple passed by with a little dog tethered between them, and Harry smiled.

"Morning."

They glanced over at him with twin arch looks before ushering their terrier forward at a faster pace. Harry considered it a victory that they even acknowledged his existence. It wasn't that he wanted to appear suspicious, being a new person in a village like this was enough to garner too much attention, out of town visitors doubly so, but there was something about the instant paranoia of these people that made him itch to create a minor disturbance to ruffle a few feathers. Any feathers, really.

He crossed the square and sank down onto an empty bench, withdrawing a small notepad from his back pocket. This was routine, an easy rhythm Harry welcomed gladly amidst the strange stillness of this place. He tugged a pencil out of the spiral binding and drummed the eraser against the cover. With so few people about, Harry would never be able to make any observations. So far the same young girl had skipped in and out of the door three times, one time dragging a younger boy with her. Each time they left wiping their mouths on their sleeves with wide, silly smiles.

By the time the sun crested the top of the church steeple, Harry counted no less than ten different children who had crossed the threshold a dozen or more times, even after being chased out the door by a stern looking bloke with a giant bald spot on the back of his head. They'd giggle and duck back under his arms and he'd let them, flinging his arms up in the air as if giving up, only to snatch them around the waist and haul them bodily into the streets as their laughing cries of protest drifted down to where Harry sat, watching.

Lazily doodling a spiral on the top corner of the page, Harry came to the conclusion that his client was completely insane. Though so was he for sitting around waiting for something relevant to happen. Darracott hadn't given him any information beyond the very basics. Actually, all he'd been given was a simple picture and the direction to "Follow her, she's up to something. I know my wife." At least he was being paid. That pay cheque was the only reason he was sitting here. Once, maybe, he would have come to a place like this, full of ideas on how to catch the perpetrator in the act, get a decent amount of evidence either way and present it all with a flourish and satisfaction.

The last time he'd felt that way after a case, he'd been twenty, stupidly naïve, and high on passing the exams to become an Auror. That joy had been as short lived as that career path.

"You look cold."

Harry dropped his pen in shock as Lydia sat down on the bench beside him. She held up a paper cup with a lid snapped firmly on. Steam curled out of the sip hole and dissipated. "Here. It's not all that good, but it'll keep your fingers from going numb."

Harry took the cup with an uncertain smile and held it between his palms. "Thanks."

An awkward beat passed before Lydia continued. "Are you a journalist then? What with the notebook and serious expression, you'd have to be. Are you going to be writing an exposé on the new chocolate bloke? He's a real smooth talker that one. He came in a bit like you actually. All posh and well-mannered but serious."

"You think I'm posh?"

"Well, no. My mum thinks so, but what does she know about it? You dress nice. Your accent is nice. And you had a briefcase. Who has those anymore but posh, business types?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry answered, bewildered.

"So are you? Writing a piece, I mean."

Well, in for a Knut … Harry bent forward, cast his gaze wide and then grinned, hoping he didn't look like the deranged psychopath he thought he might look like. "What do you think?"

"I think you're not going to say."

"Exactly." He settled again and perched his notebook on his knee. At the top of a fresh sheet, he poised his pen and said, "So, want to tell me again about the new shop owner?"

* * *

_Decadence_'s doors stayed open wide despite the chilled autumn wind that had the few pedestrians passing by. They hunkered inside their jackets and kept their gaze low to the kerb. Mouthwatering scents caught on the breeze and swamped Harry even before crossing the street. Had the wind been blowing toward his bench, he might have been drooling onto his notebook, but the thought, no matter how funny, didn't break his quick stride across the road and into the safe shelter of the chocolate shop. He pressed himself into the doorframe to let a mother and her son pass onto the kerb and out of his way.

For a shop catering mostly to children, the place was uncannily spotless. Not even a crushed chocolate wrapper could be found stored up against the counter to his right. Harry circled slowly in place, trying to decide if the interior decorator had been a lazy tosser or bought into the minimalist movement. And yet, Harry admitted he didn't feel unwelcome by the blandness of the walls or the Spartan nature of the floor display.

It must have been the candles that flickered endlessly around the walls.

"May I help?" a man asked from behind the counter in broken English. Harry turned in a slow circle to address the question and came up short. The man who had spoken stood tall and proud, rubbing his hands along a flannel while eyeing Harry in suspicion. Harry couldn't say that he blamed him. Every other person in the town reacted the exact same way when they first laid eyes on him.

Harry shook his head. "Just looking."

The man arched a brow, which, frankly, scared Harry a bit more than he cared to explore. "Look hard, buy, then leave."

A clearer dismissal could not have been given. Harry thought he should be more offended by it, but he couldn't work up an emotion beyond general irritation at having to be there at all. That the shop stayed open mystified him. This wasn't the elusive owner, that much was clear. No, this was just hired help, who was being of no help to Harry at all.

"Does everyone get treated like this?"

"No," came the instant reply. "Just strangers."

"Yeah, I worked that out." Harry raked his fingers through his hair and shrugged half-heartedly. "Got anything with caramel in it?"

"In luck. Fresh." A bag of truffles was thrust in front of Harry when he stepped forward. "Here, take and go."

He took the bag carefully and withdrew his wallet, making sure to pay exact change before escaping the shop with what little dignity and patience he had left. Verbal abuse he could handle, but that had been more like having a nice little chat with a crumbling stone wall. Still, he was no closer to having any answers than he had been before now. Frustration fueled Harry's steps back to the inn; he wanted to go home, but to do so he'd have to solve this daft case. One day was, unfortunately, not long enough to have done so no matter how hard he wished.

Whatever he did next, he'd have to do it when someone different was working.

Or when no one was working at all.

The church bell rang out eleven steady chimes as Harry slunk down the street, clutching his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders. There wasn't a single person out on the street. Blinds were drawn on all the shop windows and their signs had been flipped hours ago. The streets were dead. But nothing, not the wind catching the ends of his cloak to reveal a pair of trainers walking on their own, or the lack of living creatures, he'd half expected one or two feral cats to cross his path, broke Harry's stride.

At twenty-eight, he shouldn't be creeping around under his father's old cloak. He could almost hear the lecture Hermione would whip up for this one. The case wasn't a matter of life or death. This was one paranoid man with a wife who may or may not be buggering someone else on the side. He quietly cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm when he passed by the police station. Raising alarm would only create more problems than Harry was already having.

All the candles had been snuffed inside the shop and on the floor above. The street lamp bathed the door in an orange glow, illuminating the latch and lock, reminding Harry that he was about to do something both ethically and morally wrong, but what other choice did he have? He wasn't getting anywhere chatting with the locals, and the only solid lead he had was this chocolate shop. All he needed was a small piece of evidence that linked the store with Joseph Darracott's wife and he could leave for home.

That said, he wasn't sure he would find anything incriminating lying about in _Decadence_where the floorboards had reflected his face.

Crushing the voice of his conscience into a flaky pulp, Harry spelled the door open and crossed into the silent shop, letting the door creak shut behind him. The sudden darkness overwhelmed his senses. He tightened his grip on his wand and waited out the disorientation until, slowly, the room began to reform in the semi-darkness. He waited a strained moment for sounds above but no one had stirred. He counted himself lucky, sliding the Cloak off and draping it over his arm.

He supposed knowing what to look for would be helpful. Usually it was a stocking or a thong, maybe an earring, something easily dismissed or forgotten when in a rush, but those were things left in a bedroom or parlour, not the actual shop. He eyed the various covered platters that lined the counter space where a different set of chocolates sat under each glass cover, some familiar to Harry and some not. In the low gleam of the street light peeking in between the blinds he caught sight of what looked like white-tipped kisses.

He muffled his footsteps with a spell before crossing to the counter. He clenched his fists and glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was at the stairs. This was irresponsible, not to mention unethical. It went against everything Harry stood for, or thought he did.

Lifting the glass cover, he snuck out one of the chocolates and held it in his palm, pitting it against a sudden attack of conscience. Desire won; he bit into the sinful-looking sweet, groaning at the wash of creme that hit his tongue before dissolving and mixing with the slow melting chocolate. He licked the ends of his fingers clean, helpless to resist the last smear along the tips. Heat slowly spread down his throat and ballooned within his stomach. In the dark shop, alone, Harry shuddered, overwhelmed.

"Potter?" The few candles lining the walls of the shop flickered and brightened with a whispered spell. Harry shielded his eyes against the glare and twisted toward the newcomer. Malfoy stood illuminated at the base of the stairs in his bathrobe, of all things. "What are you _doing_here? Can't you read? The shop is closed."

"_You_."

"Yes, _me_, terribly observant," said Malfoy, waving his wand at the candles until they dimmed to less than blinding brightness. "As charming as this is, some of us enjoy sleeping at night without having to worry about people breaking into their homes."

"I ... right, of course." Harry paused on uneven footing. A droplet of sweat trickled down his temple and pooled in his ear as he curled his fingers into the folds of his Cloak. "You've been here."

Malfoy glared through sleep heavy eyelids. Harry found that easier to deal with than trying to understand Draco Malfoy standing inside a chocolaterie. "Now, if you're done playing with the Nipples of Venus, go back to the inn and go to sleep."

"How do you know where I'm staying?" Harry latched on to the last thing he'd heard, unwilling to leave until he had some kind of answer. His palms grew damp and the hair at the base of his neck began to curl as the racing heat pulled at his skin until he was sweating like a fever patient.

Malfoy's expression turned murderous, tiredly murderous, and his silver eyes darkened to cool grey. "Snape was right about you; you _are_an idiot." He scoffed and swiped at his eyes. "I take lunch at noon. Come and find me then."

"What?" Harry startled and relaxed his fists at his side, swaying in an indiscernible breeze, choking down the growing warmth that pulsed straight and true down to the one body part he couldn't control.

"You heard. Now, I'm going back to sleep, something I suggest you do as well. No one likes a tired Auror, Potter. They're boring."

And, before Harry could protest that he hadn't been an Auror for years, let alone a tired one, Malfoy vanished up the stairwell. Harry slouched against the showcase and peered at the tempting chocolates resting on the plates with a dubious expression. Checking to make sure Malfoy wasn't coming back, he swiped two, shoving the one into his mouth and pocketing the other for later.

He took a step toward the door, hissed and adjusted his trousers, and then ran out into the empty street with his Invisibility Cloak flung half-heartedly over his head to slip back to the inn on the other side of the road.

The hallways were quiet as he crept to his room, not bothering with lights or his wand. Harry scrambled to the bathroom as soon as he managed to work the key to his room into the lock. His hands trembled as he twisted the glass doorknob, wrenching open the door with a violent swear and closing it with an even louder bang. No one else was on this floor. He'd made sure of it, and never had he been more grateful of his privacy than he was now.

His shirt came off with a few jerks and tugs at the hem as he fumbled his way, blind, into the bathroom, one hand going for the zip of his fly, the other worked the rest of the shirt off over his head. His pulse beat wildly, outpaced only by his breathing. Sweetness clung to his tongue and teeth as he discarded his trousers in a haphazard pile just inside the bathroom door.

This wasn't natural. Harry knew that with a great deal of certainty and dread as he staggered to the bathroom, groping for the sink when he made it through the door, with his other hand snaking inside his pants to grip his cock firmly. He squeezed once, twice, and his eyes fell shut. A ragged groan tore his throat and echoed against the tiled walls. Abnormal. Very not normal, very wrong, and if he could stop himself he would, but he couldn't. He pulled at his pants, rolling his hips to help them down and they caught at his knees.

It didn't matter. Harry thought his head might implode from the pressure building around him. His skin was slick and uncomfortable. The rolling, ever present warmth teased him into madness and all he could think about, all he could do really, was go with it. Sweat plastered the fine hair at the back of his neck to his skin as he thrust into his hand, wishing the heat would end so he could think. Think about anything. Anything other than the pale expanse of Malfoy's neck, the way his lips had curved in a sardonic smile as he talked, the airy timber of his voice as Harry'd stood there, stricken dumb.

With a strangled moan, Harry's knees buckled beneath him and he crashed against the sink, body pulsing. Heat, pain and pleasure exploded from him in a rush of twisting, shaking limbs and he fought to stay upright and conscious through it. Too soon it ended. He panted, pressing his forehead against the cool steel of the faucet, willing his body to cool.

* * *

Someone was pounding on his door in a flurry of staccato thump-thump-thumps. The knocking wasn't in his head. Harry groaned into his pillow, eyes rolling back into his head as he willed the persistent hammering to stop. As if the person on the other side could pick up on Harry's displeasure the noise ceased. But then things only got worse.

"You're up late this morning. Rough night?"

Harry waved at Lydia without lifting his head. She giggled and something clinked against the surface of the writing desk.

"Well, your breakfast is there if you get hungry. If you think you're going to puke or something, try and get to the bathroom."

Harry mumbled something he hoped sounded as reassuring to her as it must have to the pillow. A soundless second crept before he heard the door ease closed and footsteps retreat down the stairs. He cradled his head to stop the endless pounding, digging his fingers into his scalp. He hadn't thought the one glass of wine would do him in like this. He was stuck hung-over and nauseous and unable to think beyond going back to sleep. Only, he had a meeting with Malfoy, of all people, in … two hours. He glared at the radio alarm with its bright red, digital numbers mocking him. The alarm should have gone off three hours ago, he wasn't here on holiday. Swearing that he'd finish this early hadn't helped him any earlier. Now, it only seemed to trip him up at every turn.

Two hours and one scalding shower later, Harry loitered outside the doors to _Decadence_and waited for the church bells to ring in the new hour. The outright suspicion he garnered was hysterical and expected, more so since he fully believed Malfoy had warned the lot of them about the weirdo who had just blown into town. Maybe he had suggested Harry went about kidnapping children and kicking over potted mums. He wasn't being arrested. That had to count for something.

"Oh, you came."

"Yeah." Harry laughed uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. That wasn't the most inviting of all greetings. "You could sound more excited."

"After you broke into my shop and stole from me?"

"Er, right, about that –"

"Save it, Potter." Malfoy backed away from the door. "Get inside."

Harry slid past Malfoy and waited for him to shut the door. Before Harry could ask one of the half-dozen irrelevant but necessary questions, Malfoy started speaking. "If you're not here to arrest me, you better have a damn good explanation for your continued presence in this town, or I'll have the police arrest _you_."

"Do you talk to all your new customers like this?"

"You are not my customer," Malfoy snapped. Irritation flashed in his eyes, silver to cool grey. Harry swallowed. "Just tell me what you want, Potter. I would like to enjoy my lunch while the day is young."

"I could have come back after you closed for good."

"And risked you sampling more of my wares?" Hysterical laughter clawed at Harry's throat, which he squashed in a hurry, hoping it hadn't shown on his face. "Hardly."

"I wasn't aware you were so fond of your … nipples."

Malfoy squared his shoulders and turned away, dragging his fingers over the glass countertop. "So, you've come all this way to insult me? The door is behind you. Do let it hit you on the way out."

"No, that's –" Harry hesitated, hand hovering above Malfoy's shoulder for a split second before he dropped it back to his side. That wouldn't solve anything. "Look, Malfoy. I'm not here because I want to be, believe me. This is the last place I'd come if I wasn't getting paid. I wasn't even aware you had moved, let alone were here. Otherwise I wouldn't have even bothered."

Well, that couldn't have come out any less insulting than it had. "Listen, all I need from you is a little cooperation and then I'll be gone."

"Why?"

"Because," Harry started with a snap, then thought about it and changed tactics, softening his voice just enough to convey moderate sincerity. He hoped it sounded sincere. "Because," he tried again, "right now, there's a bloke living here who is ready to twist your balls off at the least provocation."

"In case you failed to notice, Potter, that's not uncommon knowledge."

"They're suspicious of you, yeah, I see that. This is, well, this is more personal."

Malfoy began to pace the length of his shop, eyes flitting between the shelves and the floor and every once in a while Harry's face. Harry couldn't guess what Malfoy must be thinking of all of this; he barely knew how he felt about it. On the one hand, it was his job to uncover the truth, on the other this was _Malfoy_. While there was no love lost between them, Harry found it extraordinarily hard to believe Malfoy would do something as low as sleep with another man's wife, not because Malfoy had morals, because as far as Harry knew, he really didn't, it was the amount of time Malfoy had spent rebuilding his life, years, and still people would look at him and hurry past. Harry could vividly recall the few times he'd crossed paths with Malfoy in Diagon Alley and watched as people, five, six years after the war would go in wide circles around him as if he were diseased. As if he hadn't been spending half a decade devoting himself with a single-minded determinedness to repay every single debt he owed. Like he owed them all anything, until he'd vanished a year ago without a word.

"Potter? I know you've always been slow, but do try and keep focused. My balls are at stake. What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to tell me if you've laced your chocolate with anything, that would, er, improve someone's sex drive."

The idea of Malfoy having an affair was laughable. Harry secretly thought him having any kind of relations with a _woman_was the most laughable part. However, this shop was the focal point of the case, and Malfoy was the one in charge. It was frustratingly typical of his life.

"Don't be thick," Malfoy bit out with a snarl. "I wouldn't taint my own goods."

Harry backed off. "Fine. Is there anyone else here who might be able –?"

Malfoy's glare was laser beam quality. Harry fidgeted with the coins in his pocket, unable to bring himself to look at Malfoy, much less acknowledge that glare with grace or humility. He sunk back against the display case, defeated. This wasn't going as it should, though what had he been expecting? He'd all but accused Malfoy of poisoning his customers, blurted out exactly why he was in town, and pretty much cocked up every possible detail of this case.

Maybe it was time to switch careers, again, something different this time; something that was less about helping people apart from himself.

Like opening a shop.

"Everyone here comes from this village. " Malfoy pulled a hand through his hair with a tired sigh. "Believe me, Potter, I took every step available to ensure I moved somewhere away from the magical world. There is no one else."

"Sure."

"Is that all?"

"I'd, uh, like to pay you back, you know, for sampling your wares last night. It was … really good." His ears burned as he fished for his wallet and Malfoy had a sudden speculative expression that boded ill for Harry. He quickly removed a fistful of money, not counting it, and held them out hoping Malfoy would take them and let him leave without comment. Of course, this was Malfoy, for fuck's sake. When were things ever this easy? And they were easy right then, too easy. It should have been alarming, but it wasn't. Maybe Malfoy had cast a spell on him. They hadn't been nearly this calm the night prior.

Malfoy took the money and set it on the counter, plucking a small bag of the same chocolate Harry had tried the night before and dangled them in front of Harry's face. "Take them. They're warped and won't sell."

Harry glanced at the chocolates in the bag and couldn't see any so called warping, but took them with a small, uncertain smile. "Thanks."

"Now, get out of my shop, Potter, and find someone else to terrorise."

* * *

A blue ribbon fell off the bag once the knot came undone, and Harry laid it out along the desk, breathing in the sugary burst of air that followed. This was never going to be a good idea, he decided, picking out one of the bite-sized chocolates to examine. He might not have the most discerning eye, especially when it came to chocolate purity, but he couldn't spot a single flaw. There wasn't a chip, ripple, dent or deformity to imply _warping_. It weighed the same in his palm as it had the night before, and when he brought it up to his nose, it smelled the same.

Malfoy was delirious. Completely barmy. This chocolate was fine. What the hell was he playing at? Harry sat back in his chair after placing the chocolate down on the desk. It wasn't poisoned, Malfoy was not that desperate to get rid of him, but maybe it was a bribe. Then again, that sounded stupider than the poisoning idea. Malfoy was too arrogant by half, and even he knew Harry couldn't be bought off like this.

A small shiver trailed down Harry's spine as he picked the candy back up, tossed it into the air once and gave up trying to work out its secret. He moved to throw the whole bag into the bin across the room when someone began banging on the door. It burst open before Harry could speak. A frazzled Malfoy, shirt collar popped up on one side and hair mussed beyond recognition, clutching a man-handled envelope and what seemed to be the remains of his dignity, stood in the empty frame.

There went Harry's afternoon. "What the hell happened to you?"

"You never told me I'd be threatened," Malfoy hissed, brandishing the letter under Harry's nose. "The idiot wants to sue me. Who the hell does he think he is?"

Harry hummed in quiet agreement as he tapped the envelope and withdrew the letter. Not being the most scholarly of men didn't prevent Harry from noticing the lack of professionalism in the note. It was blackmail. Pure and simple and easy to combat. The man was an idiot. Harry had known that the moment he'd stepped into his office the week previous. He had only dreamed he'd get a mistake like this.

"This is the first time?"

"Of course it isn't." Malfoy snatched it back and pocketed it. "This one is the most persistent moron so far."

"Brilliant." Harry ran a hand through his hair and Summoned his glasses into his outstretched palm, putting them back on to ease the ache growing behind his eyes when they appeared. "I'll talk with him, all right? Just give me something to work with, Malfoy. Anything. He's a desperate man who thinks his wife is sleeping around. A stupid man, yeah, but desperate." Harry paused and caught Malfoy's eyes. "You know what desperation does to a person."

"Fine." Malfoy straightened. "Tell that bumbling buffoon that I wouldn't touch his wife even if she came waltzing into my shop in nothing more than her knickers."

"So, tell him you're gay, then?"

Malfoy said nothing.

"Right." Scratching the back of his neck, Harry reckoned a change of subject would be good and gestured loosely with the bag in his hand toward one of the chairs in invitation, but he doubted that was the message he gave off. "About these chocolates, listen, maybe you ought to take them back. They're fine."

"And do what with them now that you've put your grubby paws all over them? I told you, Potter, they won't sell." Malfoy moved to the door to leave, the exact opposite of what Harry had tried to imply, and said over his shoulder, "Enjoy them," before he disappeared down the hall. Harry closed the door after him, thinking that he'd need to talk to Lydia about letting people in to see him without calling up to his room first.

He tossed the chocolate onto his bed and grabbed his coat off the tiny hook on the wall, shrugging it on. He'd been right earlier. There went his whole afternoon.

* * *

Two hours and a blistering headache later, Harry stumbled back into his room and collapsed face first onto the bed. What the hell was wrong with the people in this town? They were all barmy, the lot of them. Malfoy would be better off moving far away rather than staying in this hell. How could one town hold so many people with that much hostility and not implode under the stress of it?

Joseph Darracott talked like he wrote, full of overt threats and a ringing declaration of retribution should things not go his way. Harry couldn't work up the energy to care that he may have just threatened a client with arrest and lost his job all in one go. It was that sort of day. What he had learned, however, wasn't much, but enough to keep Harry invested in the case, whether it was his anymore or not. He fingered the blue ribbon in his trouser pocket, knowing without moving that should he look on his desk he'd find its mate lying there. Malfoy could wait. Darracott could wait. They could all have a nice long wait while Harry stayed right where he was and tried to work through the balloon of pain that was bopping around inside his head. It wasn't _fair_. He was certain both Malfoy and Darracott were sitting in their homes as grumpy and ridiculous as ever, but, and this is where fairness came into it, he was just as certain neither of them had a blistering headache reminiscent of the worst hangover ever, and all it came from was talking, or Darracott's shrieking.

Harry groaned and flipped onto his back. He needed to get out of this town before he went permanently insane. It was fast becoming a possibility. He dragged himself off the bed and walked to the desk then set the blue ribbon down beside the small bag of chocolates he couldn't bring himself to bin. He sank down on the rickety wooden chair and teetered back on the hind legs before dropping to the floor with a thump. And then he repeated the motion.

He fiddled with the ribbon on the bag, tugging it with gentle insistence until it slipped away and the bag opened like a waiting hand. Harry hesitated half a second, maybe less, before choosing the smallest piece. There was nothing clever about this. No odd shape to define it, no strange coloration. The scent was enough to draw a happy sigh from him, but he couldn't bring himself to taste it. Harry knew he wasn't the most brilliant investigator to ever live, but he was wise enough not to repeat an unpleasant experience. And, if the ribbon and bag he'd pocketed at Darracott's house weren't convincing enough that Malfoy's shop was somehow involved, Harry didn't know what other evidence he needed.

Malfoy's shop was behind all of this, if not Malfoy himself, and a rock hard lump formed in the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. He turned the chocolate between his fingers, smearing the hard outer shell, and Harry brought his thumb up to his mouth to lick it off and froze, eyes wide and body tense, before skin met lips. His hand shook as he lowered it back to the desk, dropping the chocolate as he tried to calm his rapid heartbeat.

What had he been thinking? Harry slouched backward and cast off his glasses with a groan. He was getting too slow for this job. Stupid mistakes like that got lesser men killed and, while Harry might no longer be an Auror, that didn't mean the lessons taught in training had subsequently bled out his ears over the years. Those same skills had come in handy plenty times since then as a private investigator. He understood the unintended dangers of every job. He _thought_ he had been aware enough of this one.

He had, apparently, forgotten to factor in his own bad habits.

Harry rubbed his sticky fingers together, watching for anything, a spark, colour change, something that was more definitive than getting an erection that wouldn't abate, and a horny housewife. At least the symptoms were consistent.

The problem was, Harry knew what he needed, and it wasn't a willing participant to test the chocolate for him. No, he needed to find Darracott's wife and catch her in the act of … something, anything suspicious so he could go home and sleep. He would settle for watching her buy a bag of chocolate and eating a piece just to see what happened.

If she was directing her attentions elsewhere, as Darracott insisted she was, Harry didn't really fancy having to tell him the news. One screaming row was enough to make Harry consider dropping his case, but the pay was too good, and Harry had to admit that he was curious now. Not about Darracott's wife, no. Harry was curious about someone a bit blonder, a bit ruder, and ten times more arrogant than anyone else in this town.

He took a fresh piece of chocolate from the bag and set it aside to send to Hermione later. The rest of the chocolate landed in the rubbish bin with a thunk.

* * *

It was Friday afternoon and the shop was overrun with eager children. The late afternoon sun streamed in through the sparkling clean windows and illuminated the new display in the window, but Harry's eyes kept drifting from the clambering children to Malfoy who was gesticulating wildly in the centre of a ring of the youngest children. He sensed the subtle magic involved when Malfoy suddenly procured ten equally large chocolate pops, but apart from a careful, pointed stare, Harry let it pass. It was no longer his job to arrest those breaching the Statute of Secrecy.

He sipped at a cup of thick hot chocolate, letting the warm drink sit on his tongue before swallowing. Steam curled over the top of the mug, inching past the large chocolate curl propped in the mountain of whipped cream that floated along the surface. Harry smiled as one little boy clutched at Malfoy's trouser leg, as blond as anything, and tugged up and down to get his attention. Harry doubted anyone caught the slight curving of Malfoy's lips when he bent to listen to the child, but Harry wasn't anyone. Harry had made it his career to watch Malfoy for _years_and it didn't escape his attention.

Neither did the lack of adults inside the shop. On Fridays, _Decadence_stayed open an extra two hours and it was becoming clear why Malfoy would subject himself to that. Harry had been sitting in the shop most of the day, only going once when Malfoy shouted at him to leave so he could 'eat in peace. For Merlin's sake, Potter, I'm not a saint! Get out!' But he'd been back when Malfoy had flipped the shop sign over to open and was admitted with a startling lack of hostility, but also with a warning about Friday afternoons.

Stuck in it now, Harry found he didn't mind being cramped into a corner. He lifted a truffle from the platter next to him with a piece of wax paper and held it out to the young girl who had been eyeing it over Harry's shoulder for the past minute, but seemed unsure how to ask him to move out of the way. She smiled and thanked him before disappearing into the swarm of chattering school children. Content to watch unless bothered, Harry propped his head on his hand. Malfoy had been doing this for months, after all. He _knew_these children. He knew their names and who their parents were; he knew their likes and dislikes, and in the chaos of excited shouts and laughter, Malfoy was moving around the shop with a bewildering fluidity.

"You like him now."

Harry's elbow slipped out from under him and he caught himself before he toppled off the stool. He looked up to find Mister Tall-Foreboding-and-Mean frowning down at him. He opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but the words got stuck. He sighed instead and mustered the courage to answer, "Maybe."

"Good."

Harry snorted and pushed aside his half-empty cup, stretching in place. "You think so?"

"I know. I watch you all day watch him. Go talk."

Smiling, Harry declined with a swift shake of his head. "He's busy."

"Always busy. Go."

"You know," Harry said, "I still don't know your name."

"Not yours to know."

"Suppose not."

That earned him nothing more than an aggressive eye roll and his cup of hot chocolate stolen out from between his hands. Bereft of anything else to hold, Harry slid off the stool and wormed his way through the throng. Malfoy looked up before Harry even reached him and frowned.

"What?" he mouthed.

Harry shrugged. "I was ordered to come and help."

Malfoy pursed his lips and made a complicated flutter of his hands at the counter, which Harry couldn't decipher. Whatever Malfoy meant drew a scowl. Harry kindly pretended not to pay attention.

"Whatever you do, Potter, don't scare them off."

"What?" Harry sputtered, "I wouldn't!" But Malfoy was already waving him off in favour of the dark haired girl before him. Harry pulled a face at the back of Malfoy's head. He had better things he could be doing. In fact, he could leave right now and pretend nothing was wrong. But he didn't. He just began listening and pointing to the best of his ability until the crowd began to thin with the setting sun. The youngest children left first and the adolescents dragged out their departure until it neared six. Harry was flushed and sweating by the time Malfoy was drawing the curtains and flipping the sign over to 'Closed'.

He fell onto one of the stools, wiping a hand over the back of his neck, nose wrinkling. Malfoy, predictably, appeared unruffled.

"She didn't come in," Malfoy muttered, taking up the seat next to Harry. He slid his wand out of his shirt sleeve and flicked it at the teakettle simmering on a hot plate. Harry caught it by the handle while Malfoy Summoned two cups and a metal tin. With the tea sorted, Harry gave himself over to the need to stare at Malfoy's face.

"Does she normally?"

"Yes. I –"

Someone banged noisily at the door, jostling the sign around until it fell off the clip and hit the floor. Harry stood, but Malfoy moved faster and answered the door before Harry could warn him to wait.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, really. Listen, Draco, please I only need one small bag and I'll go."

Harry stepped behind the counter and cast a Disillusionment charm just as Malfoy admitted the woman into the shop. Her hair hung in thick ringlets around her thin face, giving her a wild, girlish look. Harry stifled his gasp and moved out of Malfoy's way a split second before his foot would have been trod on. He passed a hand over Malfoy's shoulder, letting him know he was still there. What he wished he could convey was the knowledge that he might not be there once the transaction ended. Harry mourned the cup of tea he was abandoning for the cold night air.

Genevieve Darracott stood a metre away with an eager smile and nervous hands. Harry wasn't about to let her leave without discovering where she went. He had waited all day for this moment. Typical it would happen when he least wanted.

Genevieve tucked her handbag beneath her arm and clutched the small bag of chocolates to her chest. "It won't happen again. I promise."

"I'm sure it won't. Have a good evening, Mrs. Darracott." Malfoy stood on Harry's foot until the bell jingled above the door. "You too, Potter."

Harry continued smiling well after he'd left the shop, but his smile began to falter the further he followed Genevieve. She was heading home. She was heading right where a loyal wife should be going after running errands, and Harry crept after her through the shadows like a bad stalker. He stopped well before she reached the path that led to her front door.

This would be it, he realised with a jolt. She had the chocolates and she was home. If Genevieve chose to hide them in her pocket, he would suspect foul play, otherwise this case was over.

She tugged open the bag and dug around until she withdrew a plump chocolate and placed the entire piece in her mouth. It only took one bite to have her groaning and running for the door, ditching the rest of the chocolate in the tall grass as she flung herself into the house, latching onto Darracott whose face contorted through anger into, well … it was about then Harry fled.

He had seen all he needed, which was more than he ever wanted to admit. He ran through the mist and pressing chill of early evening until he reached the back door of _Decadence_, letting himself in with a simple 'Alohomora'. The kitchen was silent and dark as he sneaked toward the front of the shop.

Malfoy was right where he'd left him, milking his tea with a thoughtful expression. Harry cleared his throat and canceled the spell, shimmering back into reality. Malfoy merely arched a brow and gestured at the steaming cup of tea by his left hand.

"Well, I hope you've found something out."

"Er, yeah, I did actually." Harry picked up the cup and the steam fogged his glassed. "This case is absolute rubbish."

"I could have told you that, Potter."

Harry grinned and sipped at his tea. Heat spread through his fingers and down his throat, into his belly. He took his time savouring the warmth, wishing to draw out the easy quiet as long as possible. "Also, your chocolate is tainted. Did you know?"

"What?"

Harry glanced up without even a hint of a smile. Malfoy's complexion was ghostly, but Harry didn't want to trust that alone. He needed to hear Malfoy say it wasn't him.

"Those chocolates you gave me? The one's you sold to Darracott's wife?" Harry hesitated. "They're tainted, Draco, with a love potion or something worse."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not in love with –"

"No, I'm not in love with anyone," Harry interrupted in a hurry. "I don't think it was very well brewed. But the results were …" He blushed to the tip of his ears. "Noticeable."

Malfoy pressed his lips together. For a minute, Harry didn't move and neither did Malfoy for that matter.

"Try one," Harry urged, reaching for the sample tray. "If you're not worried about it, you should have no trouble eating one." He held the chocolate up. "Well?"

"Give me that." Malfoy pulled the chocolate from Harry's hand and stuck it in his mouth. "Hap–"

Malfoy stumbled back from Harry and all the colour that had drained from his face earlier rushed right back in, turning his cheeks a healthy shade of pink. Harry didn't have to let his gaze drift to know what else he'd see. Every single physical response played out perfectly on Malfoy's face. Embarrassment and horror, anger, arousal, it all came bleeding out through Malfoy's eyes and lips. Harry took another sip of tea.

"You knew," Malfoy hissed. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

"I think, yeah; I think I did," Harry agreed. "Or did you miss that bit of the conversation where I _told_you."

Malfoy glowered. Or Harry thought he was trying to. He squirmed on his seat and stood. His hands grew clammy as he stared Malfoy down. He half expected a curse or a fist to fly straight at his face.

"Shut up, Potter. This is your fault."

Harry laughed. "My fault?" Malfoy pressed his lips into a thin line of blotchy red and colour flamed high on his cheekbones. "What? Did I shove it into your mouth and tell you to swallow?"

"You're trying to set me up."

Harry frowned. "Don't be daft."

"Don't you dare, don't you _dare_–"

That was enough. Harry crowded Malfoy into the cold worktop and pinned him there with his hips and hands and maybe a bit of a scowl. Whatever it was, it made Malfoy go limp. His eyes slid closed and his head fell back, revealing a pale expanse of flesh that was too distracting to leave alone.

"You're not stupid," Harry whispered, gaze flicking between Malfoy's face, eyes, lips, and then his neck. His heart flipped and squeezed in a rapid beat that only grew worse the longer he stood there. "Really."

Malfoy touched Harry's chest with the tips of his fingers. "What are you doing?"

"I don't really know," Harry murmured. He brushed his lips over Malfoy's cheek, not quite a kiss, but unmistakably there. His stomach jolted as Malfoy curved his fingers into the material of Harry's shirt. "Should I?"

Malfoy scoffed and tugged Harry closer, tipping up his chin until their lips aligned. "Just shut up."

Harry slid his hand around Malfoy's neck and brought him in for a silencing kiss.

* * *

It wasn't sunlight or a knock on the door, or even his watch beeping in the hour that woke Harry the next morning. He stretched all the way down to his toes, flinging his hands above his head and bowing his back to greet the day. The sheets bunched beneath him, twisting over his legs to capture him. Harry settled back into the pile of pillows that had been built up around him, drowsy and more than willing to sleep for another few hours when he heard it again: someone screaming.

Harry sat up, ignoring the fact that he was naked, ignoring the fact that his pants had somehow made it all the way across the increasingly familiar room, and especially ignoring the encrusted white substance on his stomach. He lifted a thin bathrobe off the floor by his feet, fingering the material as he slid it over his shoulders. The belt barely knotted around his middle, but it was the best he could do without losing momentum.

He Summoned his wand from his trouser pocket as he raced toward the door and flung himself out into the hall. The narrow corridor that led to the stairs was empty, and the screaming had ceased, but Harry's grip tightened on his wand. Beneath his feet the floorboards creaked and groaned, piercing the early morning silence. Harry tensed, and then, without room for hesitation, he Disillusioned himself out of sight.

No one met him on the stairs down to the shop floor. He followed his nose, chasing the cloying scent of cooking chocolate toward the kitchens at the back of the shop and paused in the open doorway.

"What did you think would happen?" Malfoy spat. He slammed his fist on the wooden table and a rolling pin went flying. "Did you believe I would let this go unnoticed, Astoria? Did you even think?"

The blonde woman, Astoria, backed into the far wall and shook her head. "No one was supposed to know!" she screamed. "You were never supposed to find out! They were for you, Draco, all for you! They were not supposed to be sold."

Malfoy's nostrils flared. "What?"

"I made them for you," she cried. "You were not meant to sell them like some common treat! But you ate one, you must have, or you would not be here. Why don't you love me?"

Harry stepped into the room and dropped the spell. "Ma'am, I would be very careful if I were you."

"Potter," Malfoy sputtered, going an odd shade of crimson. Harry glanced down and shrugged. He was covered. That was all that counted. "Please tell me you're at least wearing pants."

"Hm," Harry answered and tore his attention from Malfoy's flaming face to Astoria's paling one.

"Potter?" she whimpered, blue eyes rounding. Here Harry had been thinking he'd managed to fall out of notoriety.

"I can't arrest you, if that was worrying you, but I know quite a few people who would love to hear you explain how you got the recipe for an _illegal_potion." Harry smiled. "But like I said, I can't do anything myself. Well, except this."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry was faster. Invisible cords wound around her hands and feet and she toppled to the floor with a yelp.

"I was handling it, Potter."

Malfoy was glowering at him like this was really all his fault, as if Harry had been the one trying to poison his mind to make him fall in love. Harry hadn't expected anything less from him. It was almost nice to hear, considering.

"Right, of course you were." He straightened, idly twirling his wand. Astoria flinched as if stung, and then glared. Funny, Harry hadn't even been remotely thinking of that spell – maybe he should have. Malfoy groused quietly to himself while bending to pick up the rolling pin. "You just keep doing that until I get back," Harry added.

Malfoy flapped a dismissive hand. "Do get dressed before returning. No one wants to see that much of you."

"Yeah?" Harry leered, sending Malfoy into a new sputtering fit. He grinned and ran for the door and stairs beyond. Malfoy's outraged shout of "Potter!" followed him all the way back to Malfoy's bedroom.

It only took the Ministry two hours to co-ordinate and send someone along. Harry sat on the top of the staircase as the small contingent of Aurors, three, really, came sweeping in through Malfoy's Floo, unfolding headfirst into the worktop. Harry bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. They glanced between one another with identical bewildered expressions. The first one out recovered in time to notice Malfoy standing on the opposite side of the display case with a bored scowl.

Harry propped his chin on his fist. This would be interesting. It had been a long time since Harry had been involved in a case where illegal activity had taken place, years even. The last time had been over a missing child. The Ministry hired him to help. He'd found her in the attic of her stepfather's old house.

The change of pace was refreshing.

Malfoy led them into the kitchen with a snap of his fingers and an imperious head toss that nearly did Harry in. He would have followed but by the time he worked up the energy to stand, they were emerging, holding a stone-faced Astoria between them. She wasn't struggling, Harry noticed right away. Her hair hung around her face, curtaining her from his view, but the fine tremble running through her shoulders gave her away. She was crying.

Harry grimaced and refused to feel bad about it. Astoria had known what she was doing. She hadn't been innocent in any sense. He had done the correct thing this time. She deserved whatever she got. Malfoy joined him on the top step, settling down to watch the Aurors shove Astoria into the fireplace.

"Good riddance. She was the worst employee I've ever hired."

"Did you know?" Harry asked. Malfoy stared at him oddly, and Harry flushed. "That she was a witch, Malfoy, for God's sake, not –"

"Yes."

Harry cocked his head to the side and frowned. "You did?"

Malfoy swiped his thumb over Harry's knuckles, humming in response. "My parents expected me to marry her. To regain social standing, you understand."

Harry didn't, but he wasn't about to say so. "So, you came here."

"So, I came here and she followed." Malfoy bowed his head. "I like it here, Potter. Now the Ministry knows where I am."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be an idiot," Malfoy said, squeezing Harry's hand. Something warm and sort of affectionate simmered in Harry's chest. "It's hardly your fault you came here to rescue my bollocks from a sure demise."

Harry choked. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Potter." Harry grinned and didn't protest when Malfoy made to stand without him. He clapped his hands together and stepped onto the landing. "Now, if I'm remembering correctly, you promised me something last night, before you collapsed on me, and I fully expect you to see to it."

It took Harry less than half a second to be on his feet and chasing after him.

* * *

Monday morning he sent out the owl to his boss, and Monday evening he received one back with a tersely worded answer that was tossed right into the fire. Darracott had been confronted the day before and the resulting row between him and his wife had been a spectacular sight to behold. One that ended with Genevieve hurling her wedding ring into his eye, followed by skillet and a jug of milk. All in all, Harry thought that case could not have ended any better if he had spent time planning it out.

He drummed his fingers along the smooth surface of the worktop.

"You're still here?" Malfoy asked, freezing in the door. His bathrobe was hastily tied around his waist and streaked with flour.

"I, yeah, I reckon I am." Harry ruffled his hair and grinned. "I might be looking for a job."

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth once, brow furrowing. "Oh?"

"I hear you're hiring," Harry added, strangely uncertain. Malfoy's expression wasn't giving a thing away either. "Is that true?"

"What are you playing at, Potter?"

Harry hopped off the stool and stepped closer. "I talked with your people. They seem to be under the impression you need an extra pair of hands around here." He stopped moving when he reached the rounded edge of the case. "Were they wrong?"

"You –"

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted, coming closer still. Malfoy clutched at his bathrobe and looked away. "Draco." Harry reached out and tapped Draco's stubbled chin. "Were they wrong?"

"No," Draco grumbled and stubbornly refused to look at him.

Harry laughed. "Brilliant."


End file.
